


The Wolf and The Devil in the Garden

by Thinwhitedutchess



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 04, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Murder, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Slow Burn, Team Sassy Science (Hannibal), Will probably update tags as this goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thinwhitedutchess/pseuds/Thinwhitedutchess
Summary: A new serial killer pushes Jack Crawford to bring one of his star students into the field. Enter Annie LeClaire, a passionate young investigator out to make a name for herself. But the FBI trainee isn't the only one this fledgling killer has attracted.After surviving the fall and the murder of the Dragon, Hannibal and Will have been on the run. Traveling through Europe and South America and beyond. Hannibal has enjoyed seeing Will shed his moral values and embrace the killer Hannibal has always known he could be. But something isn't quite right with Will. That vital spark of humanity and empathy that Hannibal always loved seems to have disappeared.Well, if there is one thing Hannibal knows will bring Will back to himself, it's a new family. But this new daughter he has in mind might be more trouble than she is worth.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 13





	1. Field Kabuki

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second ever fan fiction, and the first fic I have written in like three years. I have no beta and I don't care. I have no idea why I wrote this, I just couldn't stop fucking thinking about this idea and I have become obsessed with Hannibal. Someone please help me.

The dead man’s bloodless skin glittered beneath the useless Syracuse sun. There was no warmth to be had in Autumn in upstate New York, but even if there were Jack’s blood would still have run cold at the sight.

The body had been laid horizontal over a tree stump in the middle of the empty filed.

Field Kabuki, Will’s voice supplied for him. Jack hadn’t seen the man in two years and yet whenever a particularly grizzly crime appeared over Jacks’ radar, he would still hear the voice, smooth and a little bit sarcastic. It was better than the other voice he heard, at the very least.

The body was nude but for the tangle of brambles affixed the the torso, groin, arms and upper thigh’s of unidentified man in question. The thorned vines sported a few young blossoms, but it was the bouquet sticking out of the mouth that stood out as the centerpiece. A collection of delicate pink blossoms covering the half lidded eyes of the corpse. 

Jack cleared his throat. “What have we got?”

“Sugar water rubbed all over the body,” Zeller pointed out, leaning down to see the glistening liquid spread on the skin. “To attract insects? Maybe help in decomp?”

“His mouth was filled with lotuses. Lotus flowers act as a symbol for rebirth,” Price added excitedly.

“This man’s death was meant to be rebirth for him?” Not for the first time Jack wished that Will was here.

“Tough to say. Lotus flowers aren’t usually purchased cut, they have to be bought. They wilt quickly.”

Jack studied the blooms, seeing that Price was right. The blossoms were browning at the edges.

The presentation, the symbolism, the gaudiness of the display. Jack’s head began to pound. This wasn’t the first time he had seen Hannibal Lecter in a new crime scene. He felt like the cannibal haunted both his sleeping and waking hours. Always lurking at the edges of memory, his poison a constant ache. 

But this was the first time that he had found a crime scene that was so close to Hannibal’s MO. In the three years since The death of the Dragon and the disappearance of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, Jack had been unable to accept the presumption of death. Though their blood had been found mixed into Francis Dolarhyde, the lack of bodies at tickled that part of Jack’s brain that had been trained to regard any loose ends with suspicion. 

Of course he had never found proof of their survival either, and the FBI had not wanted to put forth anymore man power into tracking them down after the first year. 

This scene though, this display…

“Jack?” Jack blinked at Zeller’s voice, realizing he had bee glaring at the tableau. “Should we call in anyone else to take a look before we bring him in?”

Jack shook his head. “No, we have plenty of photographs. I would like to get some fresh eyes on this though…”  
He wouldn’t be able to get any of the higher ups involved, not if he wanted to follow the line of thinking that would lead to Hannibal. He would need someone new, someone whose mind offered a unique perspective.

Jack shook his head. Deja Vu all over again. He would be careful this time though.

He had learned what happened when you let the monster into your home.

***

Annie LeClaire was a petite young woman with light brown skin, thick dark curls and intelligent golden eyes. She was the top trainee at Quantico, already showing a knack for criminal profiling and forensics. Jack had been keeping an eye on her as she made it into her last year of training. He knew that he would eventually be inviting her to join his team after her graduation.

However the appearance of this new killer had made him impatient for new insight - he knew how valuable a young set of eyes could be when studying anything unfamiliar. He would just have to tread carefully.

“LeClaire, do you know why I wanted to see you today?” He asked as he reclined behind his desk. The scene was already far too familiar to him.

“It has something to do with this new killer doesn’t it? I knew it! Everyone is already talking about it. Does anyone know how he died yet? What about the presentation? I saw the photos in Tattlecrime and I-“

“LeClaire!” Jack boomed. The young trainee closed her mouth though she didn’t even try to apologize. This trainee was hungry, maybe even a little arrogant. Maybe he had a type. “Jesus, you read Tattlecrime? Well, at least you have the basic gist of the case then. Yes, we know how he died. It looks like he was overdosed with morphine after the presentation was set up. We don’t have any leads yet, that’s why I want to get some more heads into this game. I want you to follow up with some of the local florists. See if any orders were put in for lotus blossoms. I have a list of shops here.”

Jack pulled a folder out of the top drawer and looked up to see Annie’s frown.

“No leads sir? Are you sure?”

“If you have something to say LeClaire, spit it out.”

“Well, pardon me sir,” Annie blushed a bit as her native Louisiana drawl colored her speech. Damn it, she couldn’t seem to shake the habit. “But, doesn’t it kind of look like the work of Hannibal The Cannibal?”

“Is that what everyone calls him? Still?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great,” Jack muttered. “Ok, I need you not to mention Hannibal Lector while you are involved with this investigation. As far as you are concerned, he is dead. Do you understand?”

“Well but that’s the thing, it just seems so unlikely with his track record. And then there was no body found, so I just don’t think-“  
“Presumed dead, or I have no use for you.”

Annie snapped her mouth shut.

“How soon can you start going down this list?”

“Well, I have classes sir.”

“You are excused from classes for the week.”

Annie’s smile widened. “Thank you sir!”

“And LeClaire?”

“Yes sir?”

“If you find anything concerning Hannibal Lector, report it to me immediately, you hear? Do not do anything before you come to me.”

The smile dropped from Annie’s face, melting into something more older, more serious. “You don’t have to worry about me Agent Crawford. I’m not Will Graham. Hell, I’m not even Miriam Lass, but maybe that’s a good thing. I won’t get too close.”

The younger woman spun out of the room, folder in hand, and Jack found himself repeating that sentence to himself again and again.

Too close. Too close.

Don’t let him get too close.

***

Annie pulled her rusty Honda Civic onto into a sidewalk space in the middle of the Syracuse college town. Annie thought it was a pleasant enough block, but she could see the evidence of wear on the building fronts. Signs that were missing a letter or two, and bar windows filled with old men whose eyes seemed about ready to close for good. But Annie had grown up around blocks like this in Louisiana. Not much phased her, in fact, she was oddly comforted by the scene.

Annie pulled out her folder. This was the last shop on the list. She wasn’t particularly hopeful that she would find anything new here that she hadn’t found at the others. Every flower shop she found had been capable to special ordering a bouquet of lotus flowers. Most of them had placed a few orders close enough to the time of the murder to have been the ones to provide the service. Annie knew that she had probably only been called in to do the grunt work that the more experienced officers didn’t want to do, but still. She was disappointed. She had wanted… well it didn’t matter what she wanted.

She stepped out of the car, folder tucked under one arm and brushed the curls from her eyes. The Laurel Leaf was the smallest shop she had visited by far. As she walked through the front doors, she noted that the only customer seemed to be an older man dressed in an expensive looking suit. No one was currently behind the check out counter, so she busied herself studying the displays. Annie didn’t know much about flowers, she only knew which she liked and which she didn’t. Annie wasn’t a rose girl, roses seemed so common, so useless.  
Her eyes caught on a large basin set near the counter. It was filled with water and large green leaves, popping out on strong stems were rows of pale pink blossoms. She leaned forward to smell one.

“Lotus flowers,” a voice came from behind her, startling her upright. Annie turned around taking in the lanky limbed white woman standing behind her. The young woman was Annie’s age, with warm olive skin and long dark curls. She was dressed severely in a floor length black turtleneck dress and a pair of serious looking stiletto heels.

“They are native in both south and east Asia, sacred to both Hindu and Buddhist religion. I keep this plant only for display, but I can provide you with your own set up if you like.” The young woman’s heavily made up green eyes locked onto Annie, and she fumbled a bit with her folder.

“I’m sorry, I’m actually not here shopping. My name is Annie LeClaire, I’m here investigating a murder and I was wondering if you could help me. I’d show you my credentials but I’m actually just a trainee.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.” The woman sounded like she really meant it.

“I actually wanted to know if Laurel Lynd was here?”

The young woman shook her head, causing her curls to sway around her shoulders. “Sadly Laurel passed away two years ago. I have been running this shop ever since. My name is Evangeline.”

Evangeline stuck out her hand. Annie took it tentatively, wary of the long, sharp black nails that decorated the finger tips. 

“Nice to meet you, and I’m so sorry, that information wasn’t in the shop’s file.”

“That’s alright. Any questions you have, I’m sure I can answer,” Evangeline said in that oddly soft voice.

“Thank you. Actually, I’m here because there were lotus flowers found on the body. We’re investigating some shops in the area, and so far your’s is the only one I’ve seen with an actual lotus plant in the shop.”

Evangeline nodded. “The one here is only for display. But in my personal greenhouse I have more. I was going to offer to have one of those delivered to you.”

Annie was practically vibrating with excitement. “And, do you get many requests of that sort?”

“Yes, of course. As you said, I’m the only one in the area who offers that service.”

“Did anyone ask you to deliver a plant for them within the past week?”

“It would have had to be sooner than within the past week if its the murder I think you’re talking about. I saw the photos on Tattlecrime, those blossoms were fresh. And lotuses wilt quickly when they’re away from a source of water.”

“So…” Annie coaxed.

“Unfortunately I haven’t had such a request within the timeframe that would fit this murder. I can provide you with a copy of the store orders and inventory if you need it for your records.”

“Oh. Ok, yeah that would be great. What about your greenhouse? Is it possible someone could have broken in?”

Evangeline shook her head. “Impossible. I keep a very close eye on my plants. I would have noticed a theft if there was one.”

Annie nodded, unable to keep the frown off of her face. “Ok, well when you have those records for me, if you could fax a copy of them over to our office…” Annie dug a card with her information out of the pocket of her jeans.

“I don’t have a fax,” Evangeline explained, taking the card from Annie. “I could drop a copy by though. Probably by this weekend.”

“Oh, no that’s not necessary. This office is in Baltimore. I wouldn’t ask-“

“You didn’t. I offered.” The black garbed girl’s eyes were wide and unblinking on Annie’s face.

“Um, ok then. Well, thank you for your time anyway. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Evangeline strode to the back of the counter, digging around in a few drawers before emerging with a pair of scissors. She returned to the lotus plant and expertly snipped off one of the blossoms before turning around and with a small smile placed behind Annie’s ear. “You might need some rebirth down the line Annie LeClaire.”

Annie blinked a few times, trying to orient herself again. “Right, well thank you.”

She rushed out the door, only breathing again once she was back behind the wheel of her car.

***

Evangeline Lynd stood behind the counter, organizing the inventory tables in the store binder. She would need to begin these immediately if she was to have them ready by the weekend.

She looked up when she sensed a presence on the other side of the counter.

The tall, broad shouldered, gray haired man who had been studying a pot of black tulips stood patiently, a placid expression on his face.

Evangeline glanced at the bouquet of lilacs and black tulips that he had laid carefully on the counter. “Will that be all sir?”

“Actually” the man replied in a smooth, lilting accent. “I was hoping to order one of your custom arrangements. Would it be possible to have one of those delivered to my home?”

“Of course. Did you have something in mind or would you like to look through one of our portfolios?” She asked, already reaching for the copy she kept behind the desk.

“That won’t be necessary. I believe you and I share similar tastes.”

Evangeline froze, looking up again at the man. He stared back, a look of amusement in his maroon eyes.  
“How would you know anything about my tastes?”

“I’ve seen you work,” he said, digging into the pocket of his plum colored suit jacket. He pulled out a wallet, unearthing a few fresh bills and a fountain pen. With the pen he began scribbling onto one of the post its that Evangeline kept near the old cash register. “This is my address. Feel free to drop it any time within the next few days.”

He picked up the bouquet and with an avian tilt of his head he said. “I look forward to seeing your next creation.”

Evangeline watched the strange man walk out the door and then pulled the scrap of paper close to her, studying the address.

She realized only then that the man had never given his name.


	2. Because Killing Felt So Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that no one really cares but I do feel like I have to acknowledge this being five days late. From here on out I plan on updating weekly! Also for everyone who in the first chapter was wondering where the fuck Hannigram was in this Hannigram fic, I am happy to present you with this chapter. More Hannigram in the next chapter as well ft bloody, sexy times so stay tuned!

_Two years earlier_

Will Graham lay unmoving in a dark and barren wasteland. The cold ate at his bones bit into his skin. He tried to move but it felt like his body was being weighed down with sandbags, Will blinked a few times - his eyes stung horribly.

He didn’t feel surprise when the dark figure came toward him. The wendigo, with its towering horns and inhuman eyes. Will struggled, to roll away, to sit up, to fight the creature. But he could do nothing, he was entirely paralyzed.

When he opened his mouth to scream, he was surprised that his body obeyed. As Will screamed, long and awful, the creature ran a sharp nail over its wrist and then he held the wrist over Will’s mouth, as black, brackish blood flowed down his throat. Will choked and gagged, feeling the fluid coat his mouth and the trickle down to his heart.

“Will.” The voice was barely comprehensible over the sound of his pounding heart.

“Will, I am afraid this will be unpleasant for you, but I need you to trust that it is necessary.”

The Wendigo snapped off one of its antlers and the shoved it into Will’s mouth. He choked for only a second longer before he was finally able to roll over, vomiting in desperate, choking gasps.

Will blinked, taking in the cool sand beneath him. It was still dark, but not the horrific hellscape that he had just been party to.

Will looked up and, taking in Hannibal’s drenched form, fell back onto the beach.

“I am afraid I couldn’t let you die Will. As I said before, suicide is the enemy. When death finally comes for me I intend to be ready. But today is not that day - for either of us.”

“Of course not,” Will said, throat raw from vomiting up so much ocean water. “Why would you ever respect any of my decisions, especially one that precludes you from achieving your own designs?”

Hannibal stands, favoring his left side slightly and reaches out a hand to Will. “Do you think you can stand? We have a slight walk back to cottage, and not much time to make out escape before Jack Crawford finds out trail.”

Will doesn’t want to stand. He wants to fall, he wants to drown. He wants to sink into the darkness and close his eyes against the wrongness of the decisions that he has been left with. He wants oblivion; the obscuring of the absolute rightness of what he and Hannibal have just done.

He takes Hannibal’s hand, and as always, wrapped in the other man’s strength, he stands tall.

***

The walk back to the cottage is cold and brutal. Will feels dizzy from blood loss and ache of his near drowning. He can only guess at how Hannibal feels, occasionally bringing a hand to the gunshot wound in his gut, but the other man doesn’t falter or slow. Will can’t say he’s surprised. Hannibal has always been hard to kill. Not for the first time he wonders just how human the other man really is.

A few hours later he grits his teeth and Hannibal sews up his cheek without anesthesia. He thinks a few moans escape him and tries to count how many times they have found himself in this position. Hannibal stitching him up, piecing him back together, even if more often than not he has been the one to put Will in this position.

Hannibal lays a bandage on Will’s cheek. “Try to avoid speaking as much as possible. There will be a scar but it won’t be too disfiguring as long as you don’t reopen the wound.”

Will wants to say that he is already disfigured beyond all recognition. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and it is Hannibal’s face staring back at him, sometimes a twisted mix of the two of them. But Hannibal told him to avoid speaking so he just closes his mouth and sits back on the bed, watching as the other man stitches himself back together.

The bullet went straight through him, and beyond severing the skin it appears to have missed any vital organs, so he just closes himself up and wraps a bandage around his waist as if he is entirely immune to human pain. Which Will knows not to be true. He has hurt Hannibal plenty of times.

“We should be able to make it out of the country within the next few days, however there is one stop I need to make on the way if you do not mind, Will?”

He’s not asking for permission, he doesn’t care what Will wants or doesn’t want, minds or doesn’t mind. Sure, thinks Will. He cares about him - sort of. But not in the way where sometimes you care about someone enough to take their own preferences and plans into account. No, Hannibal always has a plan and that plan always includes every variable that will ensure he gets what he wants. Right now he just happens to want Will.

“Of course not, Hannibal,” says Will. “Why on earth would I mind?”

***

To her credit, when Bedelia walks through her front door and finds the two men lounging in her sitting room she doesn’t scream or run or any of the things that Will would honestly not fault her for.

Objectively they don’t look frightening. Not really. They are both showered and shaved, Hannibal in a muted (for him) pinstripe three piece suit. Will in a finely tailored suit of his own that he can only assume Hannibal had already purchased and packed away for him at some earlier.

The only truly frightening thing about this situation is, well, Hannibal. Hannibal who sits with predatory stillness as his eyes meet Bedelia DuMaurier’s.

“So,” she says evenly. “You managed to escape after all.”

“You knew I would,” Hannibal says, gesturing to the packed bags next to the couch.

“Yes, I suppose I did. Hello Will, have you finally decided to crush that inconvenient compassion of yours?”

Will doesn’t respond to this, mostly because he thinks she might be right.

“So, Bedelia, which of the recipes that I sent have you decided on?” Hannibal asks, conversationally.

“I hadn’t come to a conclusion.”

“Quite alright, I already have my favorite picked out.”

Hannibal moves with such lightening speed that Will thinks for a moment about the stitches at the older man’s side, but he apparently has nothing to worry about. Hannibal is on her before Bedelia can so much as blink, plunging a syringe into her neck, helping her to the floor as the woman’s eyes begin to flutter.

“Will if you will please check the pantry for an appropriate wine? I am thinking something red tonight.”

***

Bedelia does not eat the meat on her plate and neither does Will, though he can admit it looks and smells incredible. A roasted thigh rubbed in spices and served in tie leaves. After Bedelia attempts to stab Hannibal with her oyster fork she doesn’t eat those either.

“And how has your book tour been Bedelia? An extraordinary work of fiction that. I must say I enjoyed it, though I found my suspension of disbelief wavering at times,” Hannibal comments, cutting into his portion, his movements delicate and refined. Will thinks of the older man’s careful movements as he cut into Bedelia’s leg with as much mastery as he would perform any surgical amputation.

“It has received better reception than Frederick Chilton’s. I was even in discussion for it to be made into a film. Since Chilton’s accident however, I assume his work will become more popular.”

“As I am certain yours will, after your accident.”

Bedelia acknowledges this with a smile. “And Will, how are you envisioning your future after this? You are here and so you are observing the actions of your paramour, and yet you are not participating. Your bearing gives you the look of a prisoner, and yet you are not in chains. You still have all of your limbs.”

Will takes a long sip of wine, barely tasting the drink. “I am contemplating, further participation while building towers for my observations, as well as my past actions.”

“And what are you getting out of this partnership in the meantime, Hannibal?”

“I am enjoying being privy to the work Will puts into his mind palace and am patiently anticipating his further participation.”

Bedelia nods, even as her eyelids begin to flutter. “And if he decides never to participate, when will you decide to eat him?”

Hannibal cuts another delicate bite of his roast. “I no longer intend on eating Will.”

Bedelia raises a single blonde brow, turning to look at Will who is still processing this entire night. Sure, Hannibal does’t want to eat him now, but how long until he changes his mind again? His compassion is inconvenient for him, and Hannibal despises inconvenience. When he wants he finds a way to get it; doesn’t matter who he has to kill to reach that goal.

“Does that mean that you have decided to stop pushing Will into this becoming of his, so to speak?”

Hannibal looks up at Will, a look of amusement on his face.”Will is already nearly finished with his chrysalis. I expect him to emerge any day. After all, he is already here.”

Hannibal stands up and cuts another slice off of the leg in the center of the table, a new waft of steam emerging from inside the meat. Hannibal places the slice onto Will’s plate, and then rests his hand on his shoulder, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “In case you decide you are hungry.”

Will’s mouth begins to water, even as a wave of nausea rises up in his gut. He has eaten Hannibal’s cooking before, both knowingly and unknowingly. He doesn’t know why this feels different.

Maybe because the person they are eating is currently still alive and sitting to Will’s left, watching him with judgement in her pale blue eyes.

“Excuse me,” he says, not waiting for a response before he leaves the table. He makes his way upstairs. He looks into one room that is clearly Bedelia’s, the scent of her perfume still in the air. Cosmetics scattered at a vanity table, organized by color and brand. He continues down the hall until he comes upon what must be the guest room. He lies down and closes his eyes. He knows he will have nightmares tonight, he doesn’t even deserve to hope for anything better.

***

He dreams of being naked in his stream. He doesn’t have his fishing line with him. He is simply standing still, breathing in the scent of rainwater and lilies. He closes his eyes in his dream, reveling in the peace of this place. The silence.

And then he feels a pair of clawed hands on his shoulders spinning him around before they take hold of his throat and and plunge him into the water. He chokes and gurgles, his eyes going wide. The wendigo stands over him, white eyes blank and empty, and then Will reaches up to take hold of the creatures neck, before dragging it down with him into the water. They struggle in the airless space, neither of them willing to let go, but Will manages to extract himself from the creature’s grip, breaking from the water with a gasp. The creature emerges slowly from the water and Will truly looks at it for the first time. His own obsidian skinned face grins back at him.

“You can’t have this place,” he says, watching in horror as his voice also emerges from the creatures lips, speaking his words in tandem.

“Oh, can’t I?” The words spring from the Wendigo’s mouth, but also from his own, unbidden, uncontrollable.

“I’m not like him, I don’t kill innocent people, I protect them,” he insists.

“But that isn’t true, is it?” The Wendigo speaks, baring needle like fangs. “We didn’t protect Chilton, and he was guilty of nothing but his ambitions. We subjected him to a life of torture. And what about Alana Bloom? And Margot? Our boyfriend there will be going after them now. And we don’t even care.”

“I care. I do care. I never wanted them hurt, any of them.”

“But we didn’t care so much when they were, did we? And what about the people we have killed? Hasn’t the sensation of their life being pulled from their body felt like the greatest rush of ecstasy we have ever experienced? Hasn’t it felt right to exert that power we were born with? The power to give life, and then steal it away, fueling our radiance as oxygen fuels a fire.”

“Those are his words. You sound more like him than me,” Will says, voice shaking with the realization that he barely remembers what his own voice sounds like, if he ever even had one. He has been speaking in the voices of the mad for so long that he isn’t sure he would recognize his own if he heard it.

“They are our words. He opened our eyes to recognize ourselves, opened our minds to our own voice. Breathed life into our body and watched us awaken.”

The Wendigo wraps his claws around Will’s temples and whispers. “We have become.”

And then he plunges Will back under the water. Will struggles back up to the surface, but when he looks down he realizes the water has turned a brackish black. And when he looks at his hands, they have curled into claws.


End file.
